Falling For The Forbidden

by Hawkins, Jessica

  I grab my black trench coat and follow Quincy to the car. He drives. Another car follows at a distance. I peer at the headlights in the side mirror.

  “Are they going to follow us all night?”

  “Protection,” he mumbles, his forehead pleated in a frown.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I was thinking the Thai Hut. It’s got five-star reviews for its curry dishes, and it’s fancy without being uptight. What do you think?”

  I have no idea where or what the Thai Hut is, but my brain is stuck on something else.

  “Wait, you mean you and I decide? Gabriel’s not coming?”

  He shoots me a quick look. “Ah, fuck. He didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  He clenches the wheel and faces straight ahead. “This is—How do I put it? He set us up on a date.”

  “Me and you?”

  “Hey.” He utters a wry chuckle. “I know I’m not the world’s greatest hunk, but there’s no need to say it like you won’t go out with me if I’m the last man on earth, which you probably wouldn’t, even if it was true.”

  I’m so gob smacked I have to remind myself to shut my mouth. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” He shifts in his seat. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. All I know is Gabriel ordered me to show you a good time tonight.”

  “He ordered you?” Who the hell orders anyone to go on a date? What am I? A piece of meat up for auction? I narrow my eyes. “What else?”

  He steals another glance at me. “What do you mean what else?”

  “A good time and what else?”

  He wipes a hand over his face. “Dinner, candles, and…”

  “And what?”

  “He wants me to sleep with you.”

  “Stop the car.”

  “Valentina––”

  “Now!” I’m already jerking on the door handle.

  He brings the car to a screeching halt on the side of the road and grabs my arm. “Please, calm down. We’ve got his guards watching us.”

  I still at his words. I can’t believe Gabriel set me up with Quincy. For sex. I cover my face with my hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  He pulls my hands away. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t know what Gabriel’s idea with the whole thing is, but we may as well go out and have a good time since he’s paying.” He adds quickly, “I’m not saying you have to sleep with me. We’ll just say it didn’t work out that way. I know you don’t feel for me like that, and I’m not in the habit of forcing women.”

  “Thanks.” I drag in a shaky breath. “I guess you’re right. We’ll just go on our makebelieve date and order the most expensive dishes on the menu.”

  “Good.” He pats my hand. “Now I can relax. Man, this was eating me. You have no idea.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t want you to stress over sex with me. Must be a terrifying thought.”

  He gives me another wry smile. “Don’t put words in my mouth, now.”

  The tightness in my chest vanishes a bit, but not the hurt that Gabriel would rather send me off to be serviced like a cow or horse than deal with me himself. I need to change the uncomfortable subject.

  “How come you got to train with Bruno?” I ask.

  “I was the only one more or less not scared of him.”

  “You should treat him better. I saw what you’re feeding him. May as well give him sawdust.”

  He chortles. “Yeah? What do you recommend?”

  “I’ll give you the name of a good brand, but you’ll have to order it from the vet.” “Is this an order or a request?” he asks mockingly.

  “It’s not like Gabriel can’t afford the best.”

  “You’re right.” His smile is bright. “We’ll give it a try.”

  The Thai Hut is a small wooden house on stilts with colorful fairy lights draped over the porch. The interior smells of curry, and the ambience is warm. Despite myself, I relax with Quincy’s easy banter. We polish off a bottle of wine, and by the time we ask for the bill, there are no other diners left. Since Quincy is over the limit, one of the guards drives us back. At home, he kisses me on the cheek and saunters off to the staff quarters.

  The night guard lets me in. After a second’s hesitation, I take the stairs to Gabriel’s room. I want some answers, and I want them now. I push the door open, anger making me brave, but the room is dark and empty. Maybe he’s out himself, doing what he wanted me to do with Quincy. Banishing the thought from my mind, I go to my room and try not to think about him as I fall asleep.

  * * *

  Gabriel

  The overhead tungsten bulbs buzz with a constant noise. Their blue-white light washes out the shadows with an overly bright intensity. It’s been an hour since Rhett left me in the gym. I’m going through the week’s business in my mind, trying to focus on planning and figures, but my thoughts keep on drifting to Valentina and Quincy. Where are they? What are they doing? What is she wearing? Is her hair hanging loose down her back, or did she take it up in the messy bun she does on a Sunday? Maybe it’s tied in the ponytail she wears for work, and my guard is pulling the elastic from the silky strands right now, letting is spill over her full breasts. Is he pressing his lips against the soft, plump curve of her mouth? Is his hand between her legs?

  I jerk on the cuffs, rattling the chains like a beast in a cage. A cry of outrage fills the space. It takes me several long breaths to find some resemblance of calm, forcing my brain to function rationally. I made a promise. This is for Valentina. It shreds my heart to bleeding pieces, but I’ve seen the way they look at each other. Quincy is smitten with my woman, and she likes him more than she’ll ever admit. Daily, I’m forced to witness the way her eyes light up when they run into each other in the garden. His gentleness toward her is shoved down my throat. It’s a reminder that I’ll never have her like another man can have her, a man with a handsome face and an easy smile. A man without darkness and a need to hurt and own her. She’ll never be mine like that––freely––but it doesn’t matter. I’ll never let her go. In exchange for forever, I’m giving her this one night. She deserves it pretty with a gentle man on top, offering her a handsome face to stare up at and an unbroken body to hold onto.

  Does he find her wet?

  “No!”

  I strain against the chains. My roar sounds animalistic, even to my own ears. I can’t do it. I can’t stand it. Fuck my promise.

  “Rhett!” My voice carries through the room, lifting the roof. “Let me the fuck out! Open the door!”

  I shout profanities and utter threats even Magda will be ashamed of, jerking on the cuffs until my skin is chaffed raw and I’m running the risk of pulling my arms out of their sockets. I scream until my voice is hoarse, but the sounds are trapped in the room designed for exactly that purpose.

  “Valentina!”

  I struggle in a rage so dark that reason flees my mind. I grapple with thoughts that slice my heart open and blind me in the red fury of my possessive jealousy. I wrestle with nothing but the air, as if I can strangle those images torturing my mind and lay them to rest. Clawing and kicking, I twist my body until the bench falls from under me. I kick at the wood with my boots, the splintering crunch as it breaks a satisfying sound that feeds my need for violence. Pain shoots up my injured leg, a sharp stab lancing in my knee. I fight until every part of me is hurting as much as my heart, until I have no more energy left.

  Sweat-drenched and battered, I sag in my chains, hanging by the threads of sanity. The irony of where I find myself isn’t lost on me. I’m chained in my own torture chamber, suffering a self-inflicted torture far worse than anything I’ve done to any enemy who’s ever had the displeasure of crossing this doorstep.

  “Valentina.”

  Her name is a croak. My throat burns. I can no longer scream. I can only sob and give in to the cruelty of my imagination as it leads me on a graphic tour of Valentina’s first time. />
  * * *

  Sometime during the early hours, I wake. I found a position on my knees, my arms pulled up and my head hanging between my shoulders. I must’ve passed out from physical exhaustion.

  My throat and eyes are dehydrated. Scratchy. Everything inside of me is raw. I did her a favor, but the selfish part of me is too great, the possessive part of me too complete to accept it gracefully. I glance at the wall clock. It’s done.

  Too late.

  The key turns in the lock, and the door opens. Rhett pauses when he takes in the scene. “Come get me,” I grate out.

  He hesitates, but finally approaches with quick steps. As he unlocks me, he avoids my eyes. The minute I’m free he retreats to the far end of the room.

  “Leave,” I growl, frightened that I’ll take it out on him.

  He doesn’t let me tell him twice. Like an arrow from a bow, he shoots through the door, his steps falling in a fast jog down the hallway.

  I wipe a hand over my face, the stubble where there’s no beard a reminder that I need a shower and a shave. Every ounce of my body is pulled tight. More than anything, I want to hunt Quincy down and kill him. In less than an hour, I’ll face him and listen to his account. I want every fucking detail so I can pretend I’ve been there, part of it all. I’m too damn jealous to even spare myself the pain.

  Walking to the wet bar that’s always stocked with bottled water and drinks––torturing people is thirsty work––I pour a whiskey and shoot it back neat. Then another. And another. I need the alcohol if I’m not to crush Quincy’s windpipe and rip off his dick. For good measure, I have a fourth. The alcohol burns my stomach and relieves the worst of the rawness in my throat from the vile curses I uttered all night. My skin heats, and my brain blurs enough to dull my emotions, enough to get through the hour that awaits without committing a murder in my own house.

  * * *

  Valentina

  At five, I’m up as usual, but Gabriel doesn’t come to the kitchen for his coffee. I leave his breakfast on the hot tray and shrug inwardly. If he had a rough night, I hope he wakes up with a hell of a hangover. It will serve him right for the stunt he tried to pull on me. Still seething with annoyance, I take the washing basket and set out to collect the dirty laundry. In the hallway, my step slows as none other than Gabriel turns the corner, heading my way.

  He looks like shit. His hair is disheveled, standing in every direction, and stubble blurs the neatly shaved line of his beard. His eyes are bloodshot and his clothes––the same clothes from last night––are creased. Wherever he’s been, it looks like he slithered out of some woman’s bed a second ago.

  His eyes fix on me with the kind of intensity that isolates us in this moment. Everything else fades away as he nails me with his glacier stare, making me shiver inside. He holds me locked in invisible constraints until he’s almost on top of me. Even if I want to, I can’t move. I’m frozen to the spot.

  He leans an arm above his head on the wall and crosses one ankle over the other, his stance both relaxed and intimidating as he stares down at me.

  “So,” his eyes run over me from top to bottom, “how was last night?”

  There’s a bite in his words that’s contradictory to the flash of hurt in his eyes. The whiskey that laces his breath drifts to me on the air. He’s been out drinking?

  I want to tell him he’s an asshole, but his masculinity folds around me like a cloak, the power he has over me both frightening and exciting.

  “Did he kiss you?” he asks on a drawl, cool amusement masking something else I can’t place.

  “On a first date?” I say sarcastically. “Some men are gentlemen, you know.”

  First, he looks surprised, then relieved, and then angry. “Are you telling me nothing happened?”

  “Like I said, Quincy is a gentleman.”

  Predator intent fills his eyes. He moves so close to me, I can see his pupils dilate. “Then it seems it’s not a gentleman you need.”

  I pull myself to my full height, my breasts brushing over his chest in the process, but I don’t care. “Why, Gabriel, you look disappointed.” I bat my eyelashes in mock innocence.

  “What were you hoping for?”

  He reaches out so fast I jump in fright and drop the basket when he grabs my wrist.

  “I offered you a chance to have it pretty.” His lips thin. “I offered you beautiful. You blew that chance, and now you’re left with hard and ugly.” He squeezes to the point of pain. “You’re left with me.”

  There’s so much meaning in those words, I can’t stop the shiver that crawls up my spine.

  He releases me with a soft shove and says in a quiet, threatening voice, “Remember, you begged for it.”

  Picking up the basket, he pushes it into my arms and walks around me like I’m nothing but an irritating obstacle in his way. If I was infuriated last night, I’m ten times more so now.

  “You can’t pass me around like a toy for your men,” I say to his back, “and you can’t decide who I sleep with.”

  He stops and takes two steps back to me. His smile is cold and cruel. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re property, Valentina. You agreed to any duty I see fit. I can share you however I want, but you don’t have to worry about being a toy for my men. I don’t like to share my toys. Last night was a big fucking gift. Not for Quincy. For you.” Heat and possessive intent darken his eyes, making him look more dangerous than ever. “And it’ll never happen again.”

  He stalks away with a heavy limp, leaving me trembling with something other than anger. Understanding blooms in me. Gabriel wanted my first experience to be with someone normal. He wanted me to have a taste of how sweet it can be before he submits me to the dark lust I sense in him. I brace my back against the wall and take a few deep breaths. I’m not sure what’s worse, that I find his intention sweet or that I crave the darkness he’s withholding from me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Valentina

  That afternoon, Gabriel goes out on a job and doesn’t return for dinner. I’m already in bed when I hear his uneven gait in the kitchen. Rummaging sounds come from the pantry. If he’s hungry, I left his food in the oven. I’m not ready to face him, but I can’t put it off indefinitely. Rather now, than later.

  Entering the scullery, I forget my apprehension. Gabriel is removing a bloody shirt over the basin, the medicine kit balanced on the edge.

  “Gabriel!”

  I run to him, my eyes doing a quick evaluation of his state. There’s a cut in his shoulder through which blood is oozing and several scrapes on his stomach and ribs.

  He presses the shirt to the wound and opens the tap. “Shh. Where’s Carly?”

  “She went to bed after dinner. What happened?” I take the shirt from him and dump it in the trashcan. It’s torn and stained beyond saving.

  “Business.”

  He flinches when I touch the wound to assess how deep the cut is.

  “This needs stitches. Where are Rhett and Quincy?”

  “I sent them to bed. It’s not that serious.” He flashes me an amused smile. “But your concern is flattering.”

  “This is no time for jokes.” Taking disinfectant and sterile gauzes from the medicine kit, I start cleaning the wound.

  “Good thing blood doesn’t make you queasy.”

  I don’t return his smile. I don’t even want to think what sinister activity earned him these injuries.

  “Give me a needle and thread,” he orders.

  Only Gabriel will keep sterile needles and surgical thread in his medicine kit. I locate the items and hold them out to him. He takes a vanity mirror from the shelf and balances it on the counter. I watch as he pulls the thread through the eye of the needle, but when he angles himself toward the mirror and pushes the needle through the skin at the top of the cut, I take over. He lets me, studying me as I work to sew him back together. I’m no nurse. I’m not even a vet, but I’ve watched Kris stitch up cuts plenty of times. He winces, but he doesn’t sa
y a word until the cut is closed and dressed.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I dispose of the used materials and scrub the basin and my hands with disinfectant. When I’m done, I give him a painkiller and anti-inflammatory with a glass of water. He drinks the pills without protest. Fine lines of fatigue mark his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His permanent frown lines run deeper than usual. Taking his hand, I lead him to my bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Getting the blood off you. You should be worried about catching AIDS.”

  He grins. “Next time, I’ll wear surgical gloves.”

  I snort. He lets me undress him while the water runs warm. I have to undress as well so my clothes don’t get wet, but the shower in my bath is too small for both of us to stand comfortably. When I’m with him in the shower, he has to drape me over his body or hold me in his arms. I angle the water away from his wound, and wash the rest of his body, trying to be gentle on his abdomen where he’s bruised. When he’s clean, I wrap a towel around his waist and take another to pat him dry. I have to stand on the toilet to reach his hair. Judging by the teeth he flashes me, he finds my care amusing, but he doesn’t interfere or take over. I dry his back, chest, and arms, and then I go down on my knees to rub the towel up his legs. There are so many muscles on these legs. They knit together in rigid lines, defining the man’s hard exterior with an accurate mirror image of what lies inside his soul.

  As I’m pushing to my feet, he prevents me with his hands on my shoulders. I look up. He’s devouring me with his eyes, his cock tenting the towel at my eye level.

  “Valentina.”

  There’s a plea in the way he says my name. I can’t help but want to please him. My reply to his unspoken question is to tug on the towel and let it fall to the floor. I take him in my mouth, and like always, he lets me do whatever I want. I suck him as deep as I can take, eating him hungrily. He groans and dips his knees, giving himself over to me. I take his pleasure like I own it, like it’s his duty to give it up to me. He’s breathing hard when I’m done, but so am I. He hooks his hands under my arms to help me to my feet, pressing our lips together, and dipping his tongue into my mouth like he always does when I’ve swallowed his seed. He growls deep from his chest as he sucks on my tongue. The primal sound makes liquid heat gather between my thighs. I’m impossibly slick, my body preparing itself for his invasion, an invasion that’s yet to come.